Lord of Caldera - Chapter 173

Chapter 173: Chapter 173

The ancient faith of the North centered on ancestor worship—honoring past heroes and sages, seeking their strength and wisdom. However, with the Empire’s founding, ancestor worship came under heavy scrutiny from the imperial church. The Northern people eventually demolished their shrines and fully adopted the Goddess’s faith. The only exception was the Warrior’s Tomb.

“Well, I never thought I’d come here in my lifetime,” Viscount Thorburn murmured, white breath misting in the cold air as he gazed up at the grand structure. Despite years of abandonment, the tomb was as clean as if it had just been swept.

“Ancient magic, perhaps? Remarkable,” he said, awe filling his voice.

“It’s not surprising, given its age,” another noble murmured, swallowing hard. “This was once a holy site of the North…”

The whisper hung in the air, and all eyes turned toward the one who had spoken, scolding him with silent glares.

“Watch your words, my lord,” one noble hissed.

“What would the church say if they heard this?” another muttered.

“S-sorry,” the speaker stammered, wilting under their looks, as Ragnar sneered, disdain clear in his gaze.

“So afraid you can’t even call a holy site what it is? The spirit of the wolves is gone; only tame dogs remain.”

“What did you say?” one noble demanded, his voice tinged with anger.

“This is the tomb of our great ancestors! Do you feel no shame before our ancient heroes? You cower and scrape when you should be showing respect!”

Ragnar’s rebuke silenced them. For any Northerner, reverence for the Warrior’s Tomb was ingrained deeply, its name alone commanding reverence. Ignoring the tension, Sylas gazed quietly at the structure.

‘If I recall, this place is where the ancient heroes were buried.’

The legendary heroes, whose existence had been eroded by time into mere traces, still lived on in the North. The tomb was the resting place of many who had made it their final wish to be buried here: dragonslayers, warriors who stopped demonic gods, and heroes who had saved countless lives. It was for this reason that the church had refrained from interfering with the Warrior’s Tomb—destroying it would be seen as a violation of the past heroes themselves.

Ironically, this uneasy truce had allowed the legendary “dragon’s heart” to remain hidden within.

“Enough bickering,” Viscount Thorburn said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “We’re here to elect a king, not to quarrel. Let’s move on to the main purpose.”

“As you wish,” Ragnar shrugged, striding toward the tomb’s entrance, where a statue of a Valkyrie stood, hands raised with a small bowl held aloft.

“Candidates for the throne, step forward and offer your blood,” Ragnar commanded.

“Blood?”

“Yes. This is the ritual to gain entry. Without an offering, the path to the dragon’s heart will not open.”

The nobles shifted uneasily, some eyeing the statue with trepidation, as if it were a relic of some dark ritual. Ragnar, picking up on their discomfort, scoffed.

“Pathetic.”

With a sharp motion, he sliced his finger with a dagger, letting blood drip into the bowl. Once a sufficient amount pooled, he stepped back, and another candidate, Loghain, followed suit without hesitation, earning an approving smirk from Ragnar.

“That’s two of us. What about the rest of you?” he challenged.

“Of course, I’ll do it,” Sylas replied, stepping up to offer his blood, a glimmer of amusement flashing in Ragnar’s eyes. Bjorn went next, followed by the other candidates, though they hesitated more visibly.

Once the blood of all seven candidates had pooled in the bowl, the Valkyrie’s eyes lit up.

“Those who seek the dragon’s heart, do you wish to undertake the trial?”

A collective gasp echoed through the nobles as the statue seemed to speak, its stone eyes flickering to life.

“Yes!” Ragnar’s powerful voice cut through the shock. “I, the Great Chief, accept the trial to obtain the dragon’s heart!”

Sylas couldn’t help but roll his eyes, watching Ragnar as he thundered dramatically, as if narrating an epic where he was the hero.

“One has spoken. What of the others? Do you also accept?” the Valkyrie asked.

“I, Sylas Corleone, accept,” Sylas replied.

“Bjorn also accepts.”

“I… I accept as well,” another said, and the remaining candidates, albeit with a hint of reluctance, voiced their agreement. With everyone’s consent, the Valkyrie’s eyes glowed brighter.

“Very well. Then, in the name of Godfrey, the trial will commence.”

“Godfrey? Godfrey, the demon slayer?” gasped one of the nobles, as shock rippled through the crowd. Godfrey was a near-mythical hero, once feared by demons themselves—a name more suited to fairy tales than reality.

“So that’s why the church never dared touch the tomb,” another noble mused.

As they spoke, a low rumbling began, and the ground within the tomb shifted to reveal a hidden chamber.

“This… this place…!”

“Those who wish to undertake the trial, enter in sequence. Each of you will have one day, and whoever Godfrey deems worthy shall claim the dragon’s heart.”

With those words, the light in the Valkyrie’s eyes faded, leaving the nobles to stare in awe at the scene before them. The dragon’s heart, Godfrey’s legacy, the hidden sanctum of the tomb, and ancient magic—it was too much.

‘This is no longer just a formality,’ thought one noble, swallowing nervously.

‘If the other trials are like this…’

‘Are we really going to see a king rise in the North?’

The silence was thick, the candidates’ ambitions evident as their eyes gleamed, each envisioning the throne now closer than ever.

“So, the trial is simple: each candidate will enter alone for a day. If you emerge with the dragon’s heart, you pass,” Ragnar explained.

“Hold on a moment,” interjected one of the candidates, Karl Leiningen, the Marquis’s nephew and adopted heir. “Is this a race, then? Will the first to find it claim it?”

“Precisely,” Ragnar replied. “The blood ritual was merely to prevent unworthy entrants. Whoever reaches the dragon’s heart first will claim it.”

A murmur spread as the realization sank in—those who entered first would have an advantage. Seeing their concern, Ragnar chuckled.